There are no fields
Between the plane
And the ground below.
The farmlands look like
Bandaids, and the little car
On the long skinny highway
Down there looks
Foolproof as a bead
On an abacus wire,
Undeviating
As a button on a thread.
Actually, someone
Full-sized is inside,
And he has to steer
Or he'll go in the ditch.
He could hit his head.
Or worse, miss
His appointment
In a room in one of
The buildings along-
Side the road.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Bishop Berkeley would be confused by this! But I think it's brilliant. A bit dizzying if you get too far into the swing of it, but presumably that was your intent! Dazzling.